Page 46 of False Confidence

“This is nice,” Jazz murmured, laying her head back and closing her eyes. She’d been known to fall asleep in the bath, especially after a glass of wine or two, but she was safe in Liam’s arms. He kissed the top of her head, and she felt the tension of the past few days leeching out of both of them.

“Can I ask you something?”

Liam’s tone sounded more serious than she liked. She opened one eye and turned to peer at him. “Depends on what it is.”

“Naturally.” He toyed at his lip with his teeth before continuing. “What’s the deal with your parents?”

Jazz blinked in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting that. “What do you mean? You met them. They’re awful. They’re my parents and for some unknown reason, I love them, even though it probably isn’t mutual. That’s all there is to it.”

She turned away, tears once again threatening her eyes. Jazz was a crier at the best of times, and in her hormonal haze, these certainly weren’t the best of times.

“But why are?—”

“Liam,” she cut him off. “If I’m going to cry, and I am going to cry, it better not be about my parents. Hormonal crying is reserved for shit that doesn’t matter, like the existence of capybaras and videos of babies trying lemons for the first time.”

“That is… oddly specific.” And yet she’d cried over both in the past twenty-four hours. “But fair,” Liam continued. “We can talk about it when you’re feeling better.”

“Or never.”

“Rule number two, darling.” Talking about how you feel isn’t optional. Jazz huffed, but didn’t bother to protest further. She would, when he tried to talk about it more, but not now. Liam wanted to understand her family dynamic, but he never would. He’d grown up with three parents who loved him so unconditionally it almost made her teeth ache. He would never understand, and Jazz was so fucking glad of it.

Liam brushed his thumb over her cheek. “Can I wash your hair?”

“Is it that bad?” Jazz asked, sitting up quickly and peering at herself in the floor to ceiling mirror behind the door. It was too foggy to see much, but she could see enough to know that her hair was in disarray.

“Your hair is fine. You look perfect as always,” Liam assured her, sitting up behind her.

“Liar.”

He ignored that. “I know you’ve had a headache over the past few days, and I thought it might help if I gave you a little massage.”

Oh. Oh. “Fuck,” she said as the tears spilled again, but Liam just chuckled. Apparently Liam being nice to her was her new biggest crying trigger. Maggie had once suggested making a spreadsheet to keep track of all the things that Jazz cried over in a year, and, for the first time, Jazz was actually interested in seeing those stats.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, please.”

At some point before she’d made it into the bath, he’d set a small pitcher on the side, alongside her favorite shampoo and conditioner, and even the serum she used. Jazz hadn’t even noticed them, and she couldn’t remember bringing her hair products over. She only washed her hair once a week in an effort to preserve her color and avoid going to the salon more than necessary, so she always just saved hair washing day for when she was home.

“Were those in my bag? I don’t remember packing them.”

“I saw them in your shower and picked them up so you’d have them here if you needed them,” Liam explained, covering her forehead with his hand so none of the water from the pitcher got in her face. He poured the warm water over her hair and Jazz shivered as it coursed down her spine.

“But you can only get them from Sephora.”

“I know. I’ve actually never been to Sephora before but I now have two new colognes, a whole new skincare routine, and a fancy blow dryer I don’t know how to use,” Liam admitted, a little sheepishly.

He’d gone to Sephora for her. Jesus. She had to start looking around his apartment for a murder lair or something, because there was no way anyone was this perfect. But it was hard to think about that when he was massaging thirty dollar shampoo into her scalp.

Instead, she murmured her thanks and did her best to ignore the way his answering smile made her heart thud.

For the first time in almost a week, Jasmine was comfortable. She’d been cramp-free for a couple of days, was no longer bursting into tears with no reason, and was wearing her favorite pale pink leggings—which, apparently, was a huge deal, post-period.

Liam was just relieved she was no longer in pain. He could handle the crying when it was over cute videos on TikTok or the end of her favorite chocolate bar (even though she knew he’d stockpiled them for her.) Honestly, Liam found it fucking adorable. She claimed to be an ugly crier, but he’d never seen anyone more gorgeous. What he couldn’t handle was her crying in pain. Every one of those cries had felt like a knife in his chest.

Now, she was lying on her stomach, her heels crossed in the air, and her eyes glued on the TV. Liam had his Kindle in his lap, but it had gone to sleep a while ago. His ability to read plummeted whenever Jasmine was around—how the hell was he supposed to look at his book when she was right there?

“Are you watching me again?” she asked, without looking over her shoulder.

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